The Other Side Of the Game (15 page)

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Authors: Anita Doreen Diggs

BOOK: The Other Side Of the Game
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Saundra materialized at my side. “So, what do you think? Not so bad, right?”
“No, it's cool, but don't get too excited,” I warned her. “I'm not ready to live in your world full time.”
She sucked her teeth and sat down next to me on the huge orange pillow. “There are so many people who I want you to meet but I think we're about to start so I don't want to get the social train steaming just yet,” she said, pulling a bottled water out of her bag.
“That's fine . . . but . . . uh, do you know the person who did that painting up there, it's
bad,
” I said, lifting my head up.
“I know, it's one of the best pieces in here. It's called “Is.” My friend Derrick did that,” she said proudly.
“He really has a lot of talent. Is he going to be here tonight?”
“I'm not sure, let me ask Yero,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder.
Yero was in a huddle with Kimiko and Jazz.
“Excuse me, baby, but do you know if Derrick will be here tonight?”
“He said he's reading today so he should be here any minute,” he said quickly, turning back around.
She looked at me and started grinning and I tried my best to have an innocent look in my eyes.
“Why are you so interested in meeting Derrick?” Saundra asked, passing me an orange out of her bag.
I began to peel the orange and avoided eye contact to hide my excitement. “I just think his work is phenomenal and I want to put a face with the painting; you know how much I like the finer things in life,” I said, biting into the juicy orange.
“If you like that one, wait till you see his portfolio,” she said with her eyes wide.
“What does he look like?” I asked, hoping he wasn't dog-ass ugly.
“He's definitely not
your
type, he's not all
GQ
or whatever.” She shrugged.
“I
asked
you what he looked like, not for a synopsis of my taste.”
“He's very tall, slender, long locks, brown skinned . . .
I
think he's gorgeous.”
“How does he dress?” I asked, not impressed so far.
“He usually wears jeans, cargo pants, T-shirts . . . very casual; but I've never seen him in a situation where that's not appropriate,” she said.
He definitely doesn't sound like my type of guy because I'm not crazy about locks or the casual look, either. Oh, well, so much for
that,
but I still want to meet him anyway to discuss a possible business proposition. With his talent and my beauty, I'm sure he can do a masterpiece of me to hang up in my apartment. The walls in my apartment are way too bare, anyway, and I've always wanted a portrait of myself.
The lights began to flicker and Jazz quickly ran “backstage,” which was simply a black curtain separating the huge floor space and the bedrooms. Saundra said it was about to start in five minutes and everyone began to settle down.
Yero held Saundra and I saw an Asian guy with an afro sitting down next to Kimiko; I tried not to stare.
“Asha, this is my boyfriend Lenny,” Kimiko said.
Lenny smiled and extended his hand. “How you doin'?” he said, sounding Black.
“Fine, thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“A'ight”
“How long have you two been dating?” I asked, feeling insipid.
“About a year now, right, boo?” Kimiko said, stroking the hair underneath his chin.
He smiled again and reached over and smacked Saundra on the top of her head. Yero turned around in defense and then eased when he saw Lenny's broad grin. Saundra gave him a pound.
“Where you been, bugger?” Saundra asked, putting her locks in a ponytail.
“Workin', school, you know the deal,” he replied.
“Yeah, I know; where's your sister, she comin'?”
“Nah, she couldn't find anybody to keep Toshio so she just stayed home.”
“But she could have brought Toshi with her; no one cares,” Saundra said, sounding disappointed.
“I told her that but she said she hates when other people bring noisy children because it kills the effect.”
“Tell her to call me.”
He nodded obediently and turned to Jazz who was standing in front of the microphone silently, looking at everyone.
Jazz cleared her throat to get everyone to focus their attention on her. “May I have your attention please; we're about to begin, and out of respect for the artists, will everyone please keep down the background noise. If you must speak, please whisper softly. And if you have children, please keep them quiet or excuse yourself. Thank you.”
“Saundra, are you going to perform today?” I asked, hunching over to see her face.
“Nah, I haven't written at all lately because it hasn't been raining and that's when I do my best work. Yero will be doing some stand-up comedy, though.”
“I didn't know you were a comedian, Yero!” I laughed, trying to keep my voice down.
He shrugged modestly. “Not really. Sometimes me and Jazz do these little skits about stuff people can relate to, that's about it; but art is my first love.”
“Yero made the sculpture that is next to the bathroom. We'll go see it during the intermission,” Saundra said, smacking on some peanuts.
“I feel so ordinary amongst all of you artists,” I said.
“Oh, please, don't even try it. The way you put together your clothes, what the hell do you think you are?” Saundra asked.
“Well, if that makes me an artist, then I'm fucking Picasso because I can dress my ass off!” I laughed.
Jazz interrupted what would have been one of my moments when she tapped the microphone, causing a screeching sound.
“Sorry . . . we're
really
going to start now. Is everybody ready?” she asked, trying to get everyone pumped.
“Get on with it, “ a voice bellowed out, causing a sea of laughter.
Jazz stuck her tongue out at the guy and continued. “You all know him so he needs no real introduction. Here's Derrick!” she yelled, pointing to her left and clapping as she went to sit down.
After clapping for a while, everyone got super quiet and I knew that he must be really deep or something because it takes a lot for Black folks to shut up. When he came from behind the curtain some people whistled. He was
very
attractive with a beautiful set of dimples that really got me going. He had on a nice ribbed cream-colored sweater and slacks of the same color and dark brown boots. Saundra's description didn't begin to capture his gorgeousness. After smiling and waving at the people he knew for a couple of seconds he finally pulled out a crumpled up piece of loose-leaf out of his pocket. Saundra turned around and snickered because she caught me with my mouth open as he cleared his throat to read a poem he called “Plants in the Sidewalk.” I ignored her childish display and listened closely to his soliloquy about truth springing up in places seemingly incapable of sustaining growth. Although I didn't understand some of the terminology that other people strongly responded to, the detailed descriptions and his emotion moved me as he read. I saw Saundra wipe her eyes a couple of times and Yero's even looked a little glassy. I noticed Kimiko and Lenny got romantic vibes from it because they were locked in a solid embrace.
As I watched Derrick leave the “stage” with a trail of tears and praise following him faithfully, I knew I was going to fuck him.
Chapter 29
SAUNDRA
A
sha bugged me until I gave her Derrick's phone number and that led to a major fight between me and Yero.
“My sister is going after Derrick.”
Yero chuckled. “Derrick could use a night with a hot piece like her. He is way too wrapped up in his work.”
We were sitting in my favorite Indian restaurant down in Greenwich Village. As I told Daddy, the plan was to have dinner there and then spend the night together at a nearby Howard Johnson's motel just for a change of scenery. When I asked Daddy how he planned to spend his night off, he shrugged and said maybe he'd go see a movie with Evelyn.
I'd just stuffed a piece of naan into my mouth when Yero made his crude remark.
“Excuse me?” I asked politely.
“Don't get me wrong. I'm not criticizing Derrick or anything. He's going to make it as a poet someday and there's not a brother I can think of who deserves it more.”
“I've never heard you talk about any woman like that, Yero, and it doesn't work for me. Especially since the woman is my sister.”
“You're going to be my wife soon,” Yero replied. “I should be able to speak my mind.”
“Since when is your mind into denigrating women?”
Yero took my hand and massaged it. “Let's not do this.”
But I couldn't let it go. “I know you don't like Asha but . . .”
“Asha doesn't like Asha.”
“What?”
“I don't have any feelings about your sister one way or the other. So, you're wrong. I don't dislike her. But if Asha liked herself, she wouldn't be hitting the sheets with every man that crosses her path.”
“Do me a favor, Yero?”
“What?”
“Cut the dime-store psychology. You don't know Asha at all.”
“I know that if Derrick liked black women, he could hit it within an hour of meeting her.”
That did it. I stood up and mushed him in the face with a large piece of naan. The hard Indian bread crumpled into his eyebrows and moustache.
Yero glared at me. I glared back.
“In the future, don't ever put your hands on me. I'm serious, Saundra. Don't ever hit me again.”
He was right. It was no way to start a marriage. “I'm sorry, baby.”
He grunted.
I reached forward to brush off the naan and he pushed my hand away. “Let's go,” he said testily.
“But we haven't had a meal yet,” I protested.
Yero narrowed his eyes. “I don't know what your problem is today but if you want a husband, you're playing the wrong game now.”
I'd had it with his attitude. “Is that a threat, Yero? Are you threatening not to marry me?”
“No . . . I'm just saying watch your hands.”
What game was he talking about? What did he mean . . . the wrong game? When was I ever playing ANY game? Did he think I was one of those pathetic women who played stupid games with stupid rules just to get an engagement ring placed on the third finger of their left hand? “Yero, I don't care if I never get married at all—to you or anyone else.”
“Thanks a lot,” he replied bitterly.
He looked hurt and all of a sudden I wasn't mad anymore; but he stood up and threw his napkin on the table before I could say the words that always worked magic between us.
“Saundra, I grew up watching my parents hit each other.”
If I had hugged and kissed him at that exact moment, maybe things would have turned out differently. We would have made it to the motel and the events that took place later that terrible night would not have happened. But I'd never heard this story about Yero's parents before and that fact plus the anger in his voice just threw me off course.
So I just stood there saying nothing.
“I can't believe that you physically attacked me, Saundra.”
“Yero, look . . .”
“You know what . . . I don't feel in a motel mood anymore. Let's just go.”
Yes, I was wrong to hit, but when he decided to end our evening, I got mad. “Fine, Yero!”
We didn't speak to each other on the way home.
When he pulled up in front of my house, I jumped out of the car. As he drove off, I started to calm down. After all, the fight was my fault. Asha did behave like a hot piece and there was no point in me losing my man over her loose life. Should I call Yero right away or give him time to cool off? I'd ask Daddy. His car was in the driveway and Evelyn's was not, so that meant he was alone.
I took the stairs two at a time.
His bedroom door was wide open and the light was on. I skidded to a stop in front of the door and froze.
“Don't stop!” Hugo cried out, gasping for breath. “Don't come yet!”
“Move it, baby,” Daddy answered passionately as he rode Hugo's naked white ass.
Hugo burrowed his face deeper into bedding and clutched a pillow with both hands. “Umm.”
Daddy saw me first.
My feet were rooted to the floor as my brain tried to process the scene before me.
“Saundra! Oh, Jesus! Saundra!” Daddy finally yelped.
The sound of his voice snapped me out of my trance. “What the fuck is going on here!” I screamed.
Hugo started pulling the bedding around them as Daddy just stared at me in shock.
The Indian bread rushed up from my stomach and seemed to lodge in my throat. I started to gag.
“Saundra! I can explain!”
In one huge gush, I threw up all over the floor. Then, screaming, I started walking backwards.
“Saundra, come back!” Daddy begged, “Where are you going?”
I turned and ran down the stairs and straight to my room without answering. I grabbed a shopping bag that was on the floor and hastily flung some clothes inside.
Daddy was standing at the bottom of the stairs when I came out. “Saundra, can we talk? I can explain everything.”
I raced past him, out the front door and ran across the lawn to our closest neighbor.
“Pastor Hoffman!” I screamed. “Pastor Hoffman!”
I was relieved when the elderly preacher opened his door. “Saundra, are you all right?” His eyes were wide with alarm.
“Can I come in and call a cab?”
He just stared at me and the shopping bag.
“Please?”
He peered past me, looking toward my house. “Has something happened to Detective Patterson? What is going on?”
“My father is fine. Can I come in?”
“Sure, honey.”
The door closed behind me. I had little to no time before Daddy came banging on that door. “I can't stay at home tonight . . . please . . . it's personal . . .”
Pastor Hoffman held up a hand. “I don't like this Saundra. This ain't like you at all. I'll drive you wherever it is you're going.”
Goddammit, I didn't have time to argue with him. “I'm going to my sister's house in Manhattan. Just call me a cab. I'll be fine.”
“Where is your Daddy?”
Something inside me just snapped. “With all due respect, Pastor Hoffman, I am a grown woman. My father is at home and I'm leaving. Now, will you help me or not?”
We sat there in his living room in silence for almost ten minutes until the taxi arrived. I ran out the door and jumped in the backseat without taking the time to say a decent good-bye.
Daddy was heading towards the vehicle.
“Drive fast!” I yelled. “That man is trying to stop me from leaving!”
The driver burned rubber pulling away from the curb, leaving Daddy standing there frantically calling my name and waving his arms.
“Take me to Manhattan . . . Sixth Avenue and Fourteenth Street.” That one sentence took all the strength I had left. I curled up in a ball on the backseat and let the tears run down my face.

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